


Flowers on Yours, Stripes on Mine

by poetrymafia



Category: Code Name Verity - Elizabeth Wein, Rose Under Fire - Elizabeth Wein
Genre: Doctoral studies, Edinburgh, F/F, Pennsylvania, Post-Canon, Post-World War II, Ravensbrück, University of Edinburgh - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3692283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetrymafia/pseuds/poetrymafia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Justice has begun her journey to becoming a doctor, studying at the University of Edinburgh. She and Róża share an apartment and are co-authoring a book about the experiences they had in Ravensbruck. In late spring, the two visit Rose’s hometown in the States, and spend one blissful afternoon at the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers on Yours, Stripes on Mine

_“Różyczka!”_

I was almost too out of breath to call out to her. Sometimes just walking across the university left me breathless, as if I hadn’t spent months doing hard labor with little to no rest, standing stiff and straight for hours at _Strafstehen_. Too much time sitting in class had weakened my staying power, perhaps. Every day it seemed that my books got heavier and heavier, though I’d been studying for over a semester now. I struggled to shift my massive pile of books into a better carrying position as I hurried down the library’s thick steps. “Wait a minute… Róża…”

Róża had finally slowed her pace and was now glaring at me impatiently from the bottom of the stairs. I gulped air and tried to hurry my pace.

“Come on, _staruszka_ ,” she called scathingly. “A cripple made it down those stairs faster than you.”

I didn’t answer, but tried to match my stride to hers as we marched on to George Square.

It had taken us both a long time to get used to traveling around Edinburgh every day. Róża’s studies were mostly at Lauriston Place, and to get back to the University proper took her twenty minutes on foot. The two of us wanted to invest in a couple of bicycles, but studying kept us so busy, we hadn’t even started looking for a bicycle shop. I was still uncertain of Róża’s legs, but she strode around town so purposefully, I suspected she’d be angry if I doubted her bicycling ability.

The sun warmed our heads as we crossed the street. The wind still had a sting to it, but after spending a winter in Scotland, I was ready to give up wearing scarves and heavy stockings on our daily treks to the campus.

I huffed a bit as we reached our apartment’s front door, shifting my books again to dig my key out of my coat’s deep pockets. Róża sighed impatiently and pulled her own key out of her book bag. “Really Rose? Are you always this breathless?”

She unlocked the front door with one swift movement and I struggled through the door behind her. “No, honestly when you aren’t around I’m never out of breath.” I sagged against the doorframe. “But you, Różyczka, wear me out with your boundless energy.”

Róża snorted. “Old woman.”

                                                                                   * * *

“Where is the book?” Her voice was so low I could hardly hear it.

“The book?” It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about. “You mean the manuscript?”

Róża snorted. “No, I mean _Aids to Surgical Anatomy_.” She poked my textbook derisively. “Where is it?”

I pulled a sheaf of papers out of my book bag. “Right here. Between classes I added another two pages – typewritten, no less.”

Róża fell silent as she studied the additions. I was struck, as I had been often over the last year, by her luscious caramel curls that fell over her cheeks, and her elegant hands that never hesitated in their movements. Róża had been beautiful always: even when undernourished and overexposed in the camp, it was clear she was a beauty, but now there was no containment of it. I felt sometimes like I was looking at a finished sculpture, one that had once been just a fragile and damaged paper drawing. She was firm and strong and dazzled me.

Róża shifted slightly on the bed and I turned to my book bag to pull out another sheaf of pages, these ones containing my anatomy notes. “I have heaps of studying to do, so I hope you and the girls don’t have any plans for this evening,” I tossed over my shoulder. “I would hate to miss another dance just because I’ve yet to learn all the parts of the _cavea thoracis_.”

“The vertebral column, the ribs and the sternum,” Róża responded promptly, turning to my second page of additions.

“Yes, I know them _now_ ; but only due to my sacrificing an evening to study the skeletal system.” I pulled my chair closer to the desk that took up half of our bedroom wall and pulled a handful of pencils out of my bag.

“The body is such an incredibly complex technology. That is, it’s not like studying different forms of aircraft, with a lot of the same basic parts. Every system within the body serves a different function.” I chewed my pencil, searching for an appropriate simile. “The skeletal system is to the reproductive system as… embroidery is to Spitfire mechanics.”

Róża snorted.

I turned back to her, pencil in hand. “What do you think of the addition?”

 She nodded slowly.

“I think I can make Karolina’s pictures here,” Róża added, pointing to the bottom of a page; “the ones of Irina’s planes and pilots coming to take us away.” She pulled another pencil from the bottom of my bag and thoughtfully tapped it against her rose petal lips.

I thought back to Karolina’s delight in my cherry toenails, and my stories of Nick, my boyfriend at the time. Karolina had decorated the little paper airplanes Irina made and sent over the walls of the camp. Once she had drawn Róża and I sitting behind Irina, with a speech bubble over Róża’s head saying “bastard Nazis!” Most of the planes she drew had Nick as the pilot, taking us away, but I remember that one especially because it was us – the three of us who escaped in a plane one cold March day. Róża, Irina, and me.

                                                                                   * * *

The birds were now singing nearly all hours of the day. The sun and clear sky made me long to go up in a plane again. Now that it was nearly summer, Róża and I were preparing to fly from the Turnhouse Aerodrome in Edinburgh to London. From there, we’d take a flight from the enormous Heathrow Airport to Philadelphia, to see my parents – my brothers were at summer camp, but I was sure we could make time to visit them before coming back to Scotland. Róża and I fought almost viciously about this visit.

“I have 17,000 things to do here!” Róża stormed at me when I’d brought it up. “These studies may be easy for _you_ , Miss Poetry Author Millay. Some of us take years to finish reading a book.” And she tossed the nearest one to the floor in contempt.

“Róża, my _mother_ wrote me.” I heartlessly waved the letter in front of her face. “See this? She says she wants to make us barbeque pork sandwiches and ice cream and take us to…” My throat caught foolishly. “…To the lake, for swimming and sailing.”

Róża kicked at the book she’d dropped. “Go ahead then, Rose,” she said, suddenly bitter and closed off. “Enjoy your time. Find a man who appreciates the sight of your little red swimsuit and cherry toes. I have work to do here.”

“My mother would never forgive me if I came without you,” I started angrily, “and you know perfectly well that I’d rather have you there than anyone else. You don’t have anything to do here that can’t wait for a couple of weeks, and _don’t_ say you haven’t a swimsuit, because my mother will gladly take us shopping for new ones once we arrive. You have no excuse, Róża; and if you don’t come willingly, I’ll chloroform you and drag you along.”

                                                                                * * *

The cab ride after our transatlantic flight seemed like the longest leg of the journey. Shadows had been lengthening all over the Pennsylvania countryside when we put down in the Philadelphia International Airport, and by the time we neared Lebanon, all was dark. If we'd arrived earlier, I could have pointed out the places on the way where I spent my childhood. As it was, Róża and I were exhausted and irritable, and all either of us wanted was to curl up beneath a warm comforter and sleep.  

Seeing my mother under the porch light made the entire, exhausting trip worth it. I couldn’t even get to the porch steps before she had leapt forward and put her arms around me. It took her quite a while to let me go.

The she turned to Róża. Róża’s face looked suddenly panicked, which made me laugh through my tears. My mother held  Róża for another several minutes before clearing her throat loudly and dashing to collect our luggage. It was home, it was normal, and yet it was all new. Now Róża belonged here too.

                                                                                * * *

My mother dragged us out to buy our swimsuits. It was almost a religious affair, as Róża and I solemnly pondered rack after rack.

”I could… get a one-piece,” Róża said thoughtfully, pulling a creamy, strapless suit from the rack.

“Your coloring is dark enough; it might work,” I said casually, pushing hangers aside to reveal a blue and white striped two-piece. “Ohh, what about this one?” I held it up in front of me. “I do like the stripes.”

Róża shrugged. “Stripes are for prisoners, aren’t they?”

My stomach dropped and I shoved the swimsuit back on the rack.

The swimsuits were sorted by color and size, and I decided I would look for red. _Red like my toes, red like a rose_. My lips twisted into a smile. Róża would definitely mock _that_ bit of verse. Before I even reached the rack, I saw what I was looking for. A floral pattern; red flowers on a white background – a two-piece bikini. I pulled out one out. “Róża, I found your swimsuit.”

She turned and the critical look melted from her face. She looked very soft and suddenly very sad. I wondered if Karolina was on her mind again. Karolina...

Abruptly Róża turned away from me and the little floral swimsuit. “I don’t want to swim,” she said stoutly. “You swim, Rose. I’ll read your anatomy book and learn everything there is to know about muscle groups.”

My shoulders sagged and I realized I didn’t have the energy to fight her about this. Maybe it was a mistake to come back so soon. Róża and I could have visited the States years from now, bolstered by our days of doctoring in Europe, hardened to everything that could bring back those nightmarish days. Maybe as memories fade, their power to hurt grows weaker. It was just too early this time.

I hung the suit back on the rack and went over to Róża. “We can go home. I’ll show you how to make pizza and we’ll get root beers from the store.” She still wouldn’t look at me.

“Karolina would…” I started. Róża turned on me with a snarl. “ _Don’t try to make me feel guilty, Rose Justice. Don’t you dare make me feel guilty_.” I saw the tears in her eyes and shut my mouth. “You only have a scarred back,” Róża continued, bitterly shoving swimsuits aside. “No matter how many operations I have, my legs are _this_. They’ll always be this.”

I swallowed hard. Her legs were currently concealed by slacks, but I knew all too well what they looked like. Bits and pieces had been removed by Nazi “doctors”, supposedly experimenting to see how to treat their wounded soldiers on the front. But I had often thought that those demon doctors only wanted to brutalize Róża and the other Rabbits at Ravensbrück. What good could possibly outweigh what they’d done to Róża?

I understood now why Róża didn’t want to swim. But I thought I knew how I could convince her. “No one else will be at the beach, Róża. Just you and I will. I haven’t invited my friends from high school. Not even my parents. I bet you haven’t been swimming in ages.” I moved around so I could see her face. “Róża, if you don’t like it, we can leave. But honestly, I’m dying to see how you look in this swimsuit. And even if you never wear it swimming again, who cares? It’s worth it.” I saw a glimmer of a smile in her eyes, so I continued. “Now that I’ve found you a flower suit, you’ve got to find me one. Then we’ll try them on together.”

Abruptly Róża turned to another rack of suits and plucked a red-and-white striped bikini off its hanger. “Try this one,” she said. I opened my mouth to object. “You have to try it, Rose. Didn’t you say you’d wear a red striped swimsuit when you came home?”

Had I said that? I couldn’t remember all the wild fantasies we’d had in Ravensbrück; except that most of them had involved food. But I did love the striped suit, and I had planned for the two of us to paint our nails red to match.

Róża went back to the rack where the red-flower suits were hanging. “Come on,” she called, “I want to see you in your stripes.”

                                                                                * * *

Róża pointed at my toes. “ _Le magasin de bonbons est ouvert_.”

_The candy store is open_.

I giggled and wiggled my toes, enjoying the sight of the bright red polish contrasted against the stark white sandals. Suddenly I felt a stab of regret. How had I forgotten that Karolina should be here? She was the one with whom Róża and I shared our fantasies and hilarities. She was the one I’d whispered stories to in the night, as she prompted me with questions in her soft, lovely voice.

Róża must have seen the sadness in my face. “You’re magic, Rose,” she said, tilting her head so the sun glinted on her caramel-colored hair. “You told lake stories… and they came true.” Her eyes burned with some feeling I couldn’t fully understand. I blinked back the tears that rose suddenly to my eyes. “No. Róża, they didn’t come true. Not all of them.” I turned abruptly and hurried down to the beach.

The sand looked inviting, but as soon I buried my sandaled feet in it, I felt the familiar sting of summer heat. Why was I blind-sided by this pain? I was a _taran_ pilot, and was brave enough to go to Hamburg for the Ravensbrück trial, over a year ago now. But after all my stories of us rowing and tipping canoes and drinking Coca-Colas on the beach, how could I brave the cool water of a Pennsylvania lake?

Suddenly I felt the firm pressure of a hand on my arm. “Rose,” Róża whispered in my ear. “How cold do you think the water is? I dare you to take a running leap off the dock.” Her eyes blazed, terribly close to mine. Then suddenly she turned and sprinted toward the dock. I kicked off my sandals and chased after her.

The wood of the dock felt cool after the sun-baked sand. My feet thudded off-beat behind Róża’s and left the dock moments behind hers. Everything was shimmering and weightless for a moment – then I was falling. I felt a surge of panic before I hit the cool, crisp water and sank slowly. I opened my eyes underwater to see Róża a foot away, her eyes scrunched shut, arms thrashing, her amber hair splayed out above her head. The sun shimmered in a greenish haze around us. I kicked my legs twice and broke the surface, inhaling the fresh June air. A moment later, Róża popped up next to me, gasping.

“Różyczka,”I said breathlessly. Suddenly I didn’t know what I was going to say.

Róża laughed at my confusion and began paddling around me in a circle. I leaned back slowly, and closed my eyes against the overwhelming sun. I inhaled the scent of flowers, fresh-mown grass, seaweed, and… Róża. What did she smell like? Like jasmine, heated by the sun. Like the pressed rouge powder we’d brushed on our cheeks that morning. She smelled… alive. I took a deep breath to take it all in, when suddenly a heavy weight hit my shoulders. My head tipped back under the water and my legs shot into the air. It took me a moment to get oriented, but once I was back in the sunny air, Róża didn’t stand a chance. I threw myself at her, knocking her backwards under the water. She came up spluttering and fighting, sending walls of water at my face. I shrieked and paddled backward as Róża cried, “ _Viva la résistance!_ ” and launched her small frame at my shoulders again. We fell back under the water together, struggling in a tangle of shoulders and golden hair.

Róża and I swam around happily for almost an hour. We jumped off the dock a few more times – I tried with moderate success to stand on my head underwater, while Róża was brilliant at it immediately. We tried building a sandcastle, with turrets and a hanger and a landing strip. No one who saw it could have said which was which, but Róża and I built our castle as sure as if we’d had a blueprint to work from. Our final touch was a seaweed – or rather lakeweed – garden. As we worked, Róża hummed an upbeat Polish tune. When she translated the words into a mix of French and English for me, it sounded terribly depressing – all about axes and air raids and resisting German occupation – but I liked the tune, so Róża taught it to me. We sang and dug into the sand with bits of twig until the castle was built to our liking.

By now we were starving, and our picnic lunch of fruit, salami sandwiches, and Coca-Colas sounded like a fine feast.  I spread out our blanket and Róża, wrapped in a too-large cardigan, unpacked our lunch. It only took us minutes to finish off what we’d brought, down to the last cherry and sip of soda.

Róża sighed contentedly. “This is probably what royalty does,” she said lazily, watching the sunbeams sparkle through the trees. “In their fancy summer homes, with stables. They ride horses to the beach and eat cherries all day.”

I felt a familiar pang as I thought of Róża’s childhood, cut short by her arrest and internment at fourteen. I was used to picnics on the beach and iced Coca-Colas, while Róża was in the Girl Guides Resistance and saw her mother beaten by the Gestapo. But maybe now she could enjoy being a teenager, for the first time.

I was caught then by how lovely she looked, stretched out on the flannel blanket, her hair tangled above her head. Her eyes met mine. “Rose,” she whispered. “Tell me what you see.”

I slid down until I was lying beside her.

“Just you,” I said, tentatively touching a curl that had fallen near her face. “I just see you.”

Suddenly I was breathless again, looking at her. It wasn’t unpleasant; actually, it was exhilarating being so close to her, seeing each little freckle under her eyes, each eyelash, her eyes that were studying my face as intently as I studied hers…

I leaned forward and brushed Róża’s cheek with my lips. Just a soft touch; but I held my breath, waiting for her reaction. Róża slowly leaned forward and gripped my shoulders, then pulled me against her, her lips against mine. Everything stilled. I could hear my heart thudding, off-beat with hers, and I suddenly felt the need to wrap my arms around her. If Róża left me breathless, I never wanted to breathe again.

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive the cheesiness - and any mistakes in location and historical details. Elizabeth Wein changed some names of places in Pennsylvania for Rose Under Fire, and I've attempted to change them back for this story (hopefully they all got their correct names!)
> 
> You, of course, are a rose –  
> But were always a rose.  
> \- Robert Frost


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